


Escape from Toronto

by animefreak



Category: Escape from New York, Forever Knight
Genre: not exactly a crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:39:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak/pseuds/animefreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when you have Snake Plisskin and Lucien LaCroix on the brain at the same time ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enter Nightcrawler

Disclaimer: Parriot, et al & Sony/Tri Star own FK and it's denizens. Universal or Columbia owns EFNY and denizens. While I have taken liberties with both, it was all in fun and they've been dusted off and reinserted in their own time lines with no perceivable damage.

This is entirely the fault of no caffeine, very little sugar and a desire to escape from King Kong (the 1980s version) because I prefer Mr. Russell to the guy in KK. It is also the fault of the size 13 housemate and the 13 year old daughter. I kept hearing LC purring the lines in the movie Escape From New York (This was also written 13 years ago ... )and thus comes about:

Escape from Toronto  
The Bigfoot Invasion Part 1 01/?

 

In 1998, the world stumbled onto the existence of vampires. In an effort to keep world order (or hemispheric order, anyway) all the vampires in the New World were rounded up and incarcerated in Toronto. (Since it already had a considerable population, it seemed reasonable, at the time.) It is illegal to be a vampire in Canada, the U.S. or any other signatory country of the Western Hemisphere Alliance. A few remain on the loose.

In 1999, the president of the U.S., on the way to a summit meeting of world powers, was hijacked and crash landed in Toronto. The forces guarding the perimeter cannot rescue the president. Only one person has the ability to get into Toronto, find the president and get out in 24 hours. He has finally been taken into custody.

The heavy set head of security regarded the file on his desk and then the man across the desk. Titanium handcuffs restrained any ideas he might have had about lunging across that desk for lunch. For some unfathomable reason, he affected an eye-patch over one of his electric blue eyes. The other was narrowed at the head of security.

"LaCroix."

"Call me Nightcrawler," he responded in tones like rough velvet.

"Well, I've got an offer for you."

"What?"

"We need a man to get in, retrieve an object from Toronto and come out again, with the object in tact."

"What's in it for me?" the velvet softened, the sound of his voice becoming hypnotic. The manacles reacted with a swift electric jab. He jerked and stiffened, his face freezing into a distant scowl. How he hated electronic monitoring devices.

"Full pardon and a fast flight back to Europe."

"Hand me the paper."

"Not so fast. In and out., first."

The man knew how to bargain. He looked oddly familiar. Vampires have extraordinary memories, but it had been a rough two years. "What do I retrieve?"

"The President and the information she's carrying."

LaCroix tried to keep his interest from showing in his face. Now, this could be interesting. He nodded his assent and followed the big man out of the room. He allowed them to inject a known vampiric sedative to give them a feeling of security. It took work, but he knew he could overcome the induced lethargy when he desired to do so. The injection went directly into the jugular and carotid. He was given a choice of weaponry, including guns. Twenty four hours didn't give even a vampire of his stature very long to do his job and return.

As though he needed them, he was given a direction finder keyed to the president's life lock; a timer letting him know how much longer he had and a 15 minute warning device to let the perimeter know when he was coming out and give them time to shut down the harmonic variance field that could knock a speeding vampire out of the sky. He slid back into his black leather long riders coat after he strapped on the weapons offered. He'd probably ditch or trade most of them once he was inside,  
but for now it looked good to his employer.

Just as they were leaving, the scrawny techno who had given him the shot and detailed the more esoteric functions of some of the weapons, looked at the security head with a questioning look. "Tell him."

"Tell me what?" Even slowed down, vampiric speed was impressive. He had both men by the throat before the gun carrying goons behind him could move.

The big man gestured for him men to ease back. "Let the kid go." He could see the calculating look in the pale blue eyes. The vampire released the younger man, but retained his hold on the security head.

"Tell me what?" LaCroix purred.

The tech looked from his boss to LaCroix and back, licked his lips nervously and then spoke. "The injection. There was a sedative, but it also contained an explosive."

"An explosive?" his gaze never waivered from the man he held.

The man smiled. "Yeah. An explosive. In a gel capsule. It's already melting. When the core hits blood, boom."

A mirthless smile crossed LaCroix's face. The pressure on his victim's throat increased. "So?"

"Enough to blow you're head right off, unless --"

"Unless what?"

"The explosive can be neutralized by x-rays. Up to 15 seconds before it blows. Get back here and I can neutralize it." The tech sounded breathless.

The pressure eased up on the big man's throat. "It better." He released the security head and gestured for him to lead the way out. Outside, there was a tidy little glider waiting for him. They weren't turning off the harmonics even to get their beloved little floosy president out. There would be a few moments of discomfort, and he would be in.

"I will be back," he said softly, meaningfully.

"I hope so."

"Stonetree!" someone yelled and gave him a go ahead signal. LaCroix was in the glider and gone. Stonetree hoped the vampire had what it took to keep the world at peace. He laughed inspite of himself. Who was he kidding???

LaCroix ably piloted the glider onto the top of the highest building he could locate near the western perimeter. The shield harmonics had played havoc with his equilibrium for a moment, but only a moment. He shook his head to clear it and planted the glider where he wanted it. He disembarked, sneered at the conveiance and heaved it off the roof. He would make his own way out of Toronto when he wanted to leave. He looked at the timer. 22 hours, 45 minutes, 37 seconds. He frowned at the timer. Apparently, he hadn't gotten the full 24 hours. He snarled silently and headed for the street.

The locater indicated that the president was still inside the building where the plane had crashed. That seemed unlikely as a repair crew of humans was busily cleaning up the remains of the wreckage and checking out the structural stability of the building. A news crew was busily updating an unsuspecting public and life went on as usual. When Toronto had been selected as the vampire prison, no one had bothered to inform the human population. And, since the shield harmonics affected  
only vampires, most of the humans went in and out and about their business unharmed and uninformed.

LaCroix looked into the eastern sky where the first faint glimmerings of sunrise were streaking the sky with pale gold and pink. He would have to find shelter, and soon. A taxi surprised him by pulling up to the kerb.

"Need a ride, buddy?" a familiar voice called out. Don Schanke? LaCroix frowned at the apparition. "Hey, you -- you're the Nightcrawler, ain't ya?"

"Yes --"

"Hey, I'd be honored if you'd let me take you where you wanta go. Name's Schanke. Don Schanke."

LaCroix slid into the back seat of the cab trying to figure out how Schanke knew who he was and why he was alive at all. As the man turned to look into his back seat, LaCroix got an inkling. The right side of Schanke's face was a seamed mass of scar tissue. From a distance, it looked normal, up close, it was a mess. The scars extended down his neck past the edge of his shirt collar. From the look of his  
right hand, most of the right side of his body had been fried. It still didn't explain why he was alive.

"Where d'you wanta go? And it better be close. People getting' up an' all. Man, Nightcrawler in my cab. Be nice if I could tell somebody. I thought you were dead."

LaCroix glared at this. "As I thought you were," he snapped back.

"Oh, yeah. Well. Maybe I was." He grinned at the vampire in the back seat and drove.

"The Raven."

"Raven? Oh, yeah. I remember. (Short flashback to Alma and Schanke nearly making an ash of himself --) It ain't open, but I'll get you there."

Seven minutes later, just as the edge of the sun began to lift past the horizen, the cab came to an abrupt halt outside the building where Janette had once created the Raven. The sign was gone. The building was boarded up, the boards across the windows beginning to decay and fall into disrepair. LaCroix thanked Schanke, offered to pay him and got turned away.

"Hey, the Duke's good to me and mine. We're doin' OK. See ya round."

The cab had started to move off before the elder vampire could ask who the Duke was. The sun moved inexorably upward in the sky and LaCroix took refuge within the building. Someone had gutted the interior. Only the length of the bar, dusty and disused, remained. 22 hours, and eight of them he would have to remain here. He sought the basement. Perhaps there was some stock left.

A heartbeat. Behind the bar. He reached over and hauled the black woman out bodily. She was lean and well muscled, wide dark eyes taking in the man holding her. She smiled. She wasn't a vampire, but she wore the trappings that might have made someone misidentify her as one.

"What are you doing here?"

"Me? Hiding. This is hunting ground for the anti-vamps."

LaCroix gave the area a quick survey. "It's OK. Long as we're quiet, they shouldn't take a look for us. They've been through here, a bunch of times." She looked at him as though she was trying to place the face. "LaCroix. The Nightcrawler. I thought you were dead." His look told her what he thought of that estimation of his existance. He was stone still as she ran one hand over his chest and up to his shoulder. She enountered the shoulder holster of one of the weapons he carried.   
She peeked under the coat, and while his well muscled chest under the slick muscle vest he wore was enticing, the gun held her attention.

"You're armed. You workin' for the man?" Her liquid dark eyes met his cold gaze. "You goin' out? Take me with you. Bring me across and take me with you."

His right hand slid up her back to lock in her soft, warm hair. He pulled her head back slightly, the skin and muscles of her neck becoming taut and inviting. "Why should I?"

Her hands moved to the back of his neck, urging his indulgence as she pressed against him. Her mouth sought his. "I can think of lots of reasons," she murmured invitingly.

The crash of breaking wood interrupted them. She pulled away to stare wide eyed at the door way. The door was giving way under the onslaught of a sledge hammer. Outside he could hear human voices urging the destroyer on. There were yells for the blood of the vampires within. The woman headed for the stairs to be caught in the back with a wooden shaft from a crossbow. LaCroix took flight. So far, there was nothing to indicate they had seen him. Yet the roof did not offer refuge as he burst through the weakened structure into daylight. There was a small patch of shade behind the roof access. Smouldering, he dove for the shade. Now what?  
****  
End part 1


	2. The Duke of Toronto

Disclaimer: FK and it's characters belong to Parriot, et al and Sony/Tri Star. EFNY characters belong to someone else. (I really must look at that video box) Only the demented juxtoposition of the characters of one and the loosly woven plot from the other can be claimed by me, and I'm not silly enough to do that. I'll return everything when I can remember where I got it.

Escape from Toronto  
The Bigfoot Invasion, Part 1 02/?

The medium sized man in matinee swashbuckling garb, moved restlessly on his satin sheeted bed. Something had changed in his city. Something touched him even in his sleep. He longed for that touch. He could feel the sun, feel it's burning caress on parched flesh. He was --he jerked awake. He was in danger. He stared about the room wildly, eyes flaming yellow, fangs glistening in the half light. He rolled across the body of last night's conquest. He looked down at her face. So young, so knowing, so delicious. He knew a moment of revulsion for what he had done. He pushed it aside. Someone had to hold the community together, to ride herd on the massive overload of vampires in this one location. He had proved he had what it took.

Still, there was that touch. So light. So familiar. Someone was back in town. He stalked out of his bedroom into the main hall of the defunct cathedral he called home. Dozens of his people dozed here and there about the redecorated hall with its soaring arched roof. He glanced up at the painted saints and cherubs. What did they think of all this? What did it matter. He rousted a couple of his servants and had them dispose of the body in his bed. He opened one of the coolers that lined the north wall, took out a bottle, yanked the cork with his teeth and drained the bottle. It was good. No more cow blood for this bad boy.

He looked around, almost defensively as he tossed the bottle into a trash can. No one was watching. Then why did he feel watched. Whose eyes were on him, constantly. Brainy Nat told him he was paranoid. Maybe he was.

He sauntered back to bed secure in the knowledge that although all the hunters of Toronto knew where this house was, none of them would dare to try to take on the Duke of Toronto in his own house. He almost laughed, a cruel smile curling his lips. Nicholas de Brabant, Knight, Crusader, Vampire, Lord of Vampires. What he had never wanted was his. What LaCroix had never wanted, was his. It was a dirty job, someone had to do it.

He tumbled into a nightmare ridden sleep. Somewhere, there was someone searching for him, demanding action, demanding his presence, his protection. He jerked awake again. This time, he knew what the problem was. LaCroix. His name had crossed his son's lips for the first time in 14 years. He had not spoken of or to his sire since that night when the elder vampire had refused to give him his desire. Now, LaCroix was back. And he was in trouble.

Natalie Lambert, sandwich in one hand, report in the other, looked around curiously as the phone rang. It took her a moment to decide which one to put down. The file won. She set it on top of a half dozen others, made certain it would not topple to the floor and answered the phone.

"Coroner's Office. Dr. Lambert speaking."

"Nat, good morning."

"Well, hello my dark eyed devil. What gets you up this early?"

There was a good humored sound on the other end. She could see the tousled dark locks, the almost innocent dark eyes, the knowing grin. She waited while he marshalled his scattered thoughts.

"There's a problem."

"You're up at 10am. That usually indicates that there's a problem. The Duke having nightmares again?" It was amazing how lighthearted she could feel about the Duke, amazing she felt nothing at all for the man who had introduced her to the dark side of the night. She almost giggled as she respelled the word to suit his no longer used sobriquet. Nick Knight. Vampire Boy Scout. Now the leader of the burgeoning community of vampires that was locked inside Toronto.

"A big one. Nightcrawler," came the response.

Nat sat up and took notice. "You're sure? He hasn't had one of those --"

"Since he left. Yeah. He's pacing like a caged animal. The old one's in trouble. The Duke wants out of here now."

"Yeah, right. What can I do? The caddy's in the shop and it's too damn well known."

"Schanke?"

"No. No way. He works nights 'cause he likes it, 'cause it's what he remembers. I'm not calling him. Myra would kill me, if Jennie didn't. She's very protective."

"Then it's got to be you and me."

Her instinctive "no" reaction, calmed down. A short interlude with the Spaniard could be -- Nightcrawler? "No."

"He's dieing."

"No. He was going to let me die."

"Nat," he cajoled. "That was 14 years ago. He's been on the run. Every big power on the planet has wanted to get their hands on him to make deals with the Western Alliance. He's in the sun."

"Let him burn." But she couldn't. Not even LaCroix deserved that. "Where?"

"Down in hunter territory."

"Oh, wonderful! If I get staked --" She let the thought hang in the air.

"If you get staked, they'll have me to deal with --" Vachon looked around at the vampire leader. "And most of the rest of the community," he finished quietly. He might be Natalie Lambert's closest vampiric friend, but the Duke would destroy Toronto if someone hurt the coroner.

Natalie replaced the receiver in the cradle and looked thoughtful. Hunter section. Probably back where the Raven had been, back on his old stomping grounds. The door opened and closed. She looked up into a pair of concerned brown eyes. She grinned at Grace. Old, faithful Grace. The strangely graceful, long brown fur covered  
female bigfoot raised her brow ridges curiously.

"I got a call from -- a friend. He needs me to pick up some medicine and is stranded without a car. I'll be back soon." It never struck Dr. Lambert as odd that she should be finding excuses for leaving the office, or that she was always explaining herself to her favorite assistant. After all, her assistant needed to know where she was. You couldn't have the Coroner for the city of Toronto just out and about, could you? It had also never occurred to her that there was something odd about having an assistant who was seven foot four and covered with long brown fur. After all, with several thousand vampires locked into the city, what was one bigfoot?


	3. Rescue Nightcrawler

Disclaimer: FK denizens belong to Parriott, et al & Sony/TriStar; EFNY belongs to John Carpenter and Embassy Pictures (see, I can too read!); everything else is delusional. I was never here (thump - thump)

Escape from Toronto  
The Bigfoot Invasion, Part 1 03/?

Natalie Lambert charged out into the parking area, dropped her keys, retrieved them and finally convinced the door to the van to open. She stopped halfway into the driver's seat and tried to remember when she traded the old silver Taurus in for the van. Was it time to get a new one? She looked at the paint job. Good as new. The tinted windows were handy for so many of her friends. Sometimes being the only diurnal person in a circle of friends could be trying. She suppressed a giggle. Nightcrawler. She shivered. Now that, was a scary thought.

She drove across town to the hunter regions. Strange, even the mortals she knew avoided the area. She parked a discrete distance from the building and took a look through her military issue binoculars. She could see where the building had been broken in to. There didn't seem to be anyone around, but that didn't mean much. She reached into the back of the van and armed herself with a trusty crossbow. She'd never had to use it, but there was always the first time. She grinned. If the hunters let her past, maybe she'd use the Nightcrawler for target practice. Where did she get these ideas? No, she'd deliver him to the Duke and that would be that.

She stepped out of the van, removed her lab coat, it was such an obvious sort of attire, shouldered the crossbow and walked down the street to the building next door to the Raven. The door was gone, the interior of the building pretty much gutted. There was a metal ladder attached to the far wall. Great. She slung the bow over her shoulder and started to climb. Twenty minutes later, she hauled herself onto the roof. She hoped it would hold long enough to acquire her quarry and get back inside.

"Good morning," she called quietly across the open space between the buildings. She didn't care for the glare she got from him. He snarled, then stopped and frowned. "If you can make the jump, I can get you out of here."

She'd never seen so many emotions flit across the vampire's face before. He was moving and across the chasm before she could move out of his way. The hunters burst onto the roof behind him as he knocked Natalie flat onto the roof on which she stood. Their combined weight took them through the roof. Luckily, even a smoking Nightcrawler had enough lift to lower them to the floor instead of crashing.

"My dear, Dr. Lambert," he murmured into the top of her head, her soft curls tickling his nose, her warm mortal scent filling him with temptation.

Natalie pushed away, her strength surprising. "None of that. I will deliver you to the Duke and that's that."

"The Duke. And just who is --" Suddenly, he knew. Nicholas. Nicholas? The head of the Community? What maddness was this? "He's converted all of them to cow?"

"Oh, no. Nick stopped trying to regain his humanity right after you left. He wasn't exactly sane when you refused him. He fell off the wagon with a vengence. When he wasn't upholding the law, he was off being a vigilante. I guess it felt good." The lack of anger, of any emotion, in her response was surprising.

"And what of you? You're still mortal." Though it was beginning to strike him as odd that the intervening years had left very little mark on her.

"Yeah. Lucky, I guess. You were right on one level, Nick and I just weren't meant to be -- But, that doesn't mean I have to be alone," she finished brightly. "Come on. I need to deliver you."

He caught her arm as she turned away. "Wait. There was a plane crash."

"What?"

"An airplane. It crashed into a building. It was on the news."

Natalie looked bewildered. A plane crash? Inside Toronto? She didn't recall seeing anything about it. "You're not kidding? No, of course not." Silly thing to ask, Nightcrawler didn't make jokes. Or did he? This would be right up his alley.

"The president of the Alliance was headed for a meeting. The plane crashed. I have to find her, and get her out." The voice had descended to that almost hypnotic purr she worried about, yet she could tell he wasn't trying to influence her, just advise her. He was deadly serious.

He could see her accept what he said. Why he hadn't just used his abilities to force the issue, he didn't know. It was important that she help him on her own. He checked the time elapse chronometer on his wrist. 20 hours plus left. He could hear the hunters pouring out of the building next door. Natalie heard them also.

She pulled the bow off her shoulder and pulled the trigger. The shaft buried itself into the wall next to him. "Bang, you're dead. Wanta stagger out into the street so I can haul my trophy home?" she asked with a cheerful smirk. The gold died out of his eyes as he complied with the acting request. He pulled the shaft out of the wall.

The Nightcrawler, resplendent in his leather coat, grabbing at a shaft apparently protruding from his chest, staggered into the sunlight, smouldered and collapsed next to Natalie's van. Natalie followed, bow cocked. She bound his wrists and hauled him into the van before the howling hunter crowd could get to him, slamming the door on her captive. "Show's over," she called brightly as she dove into the van, slammed it into gear and sped off.

Inside, LaCroix stripped off his coat. Natalie checked on him in the rearview mirror and narrowly avoided swerving as she took in the lean, pale skinned vampire in the tight leather looking shirt and gray fatigues. The boots were almost too much with the row of buckles down the side holding steel shin guards against the black leather. She grinned to herself. Gone was the sartorial splendor of a decade ago. She didn't know which struck her as more deadly.

LaCroix dispensed with most of the arsenal he was carrying, including the shoulder rig for the semi-auto cannon he had been given. He looked around the comfortable interior of the van. The windows let him see out, but blocked most of the sunlight from entering. He was safe, if not comfortable.

"There's a cooler under the bench seat. It's not much, but it should keep you until we reach the Duke."

"The Duke. Tell me about the Duke," he asked as he investigated the cooler. Tall, long necked, green bottles, solidly corked. He was surprised. He opened one of the bottles, he was even moresurprised as he savored the scent and then the flavor. "Excellent vintage."

"Yeah." There was a touch of wryness in her response. In the early nineties she would have been horrified to have carried those bottles around. Live and learn. "What do you want to know?"

"Your survival."

She shrugged and turned a corner. "You left, I guess. I was kinda out of it, y'know. Nick decided to see if he could save me. I think he considered bringing me across and then opted for a fast flight to the hospital. I didn't want to die. So, I didn't."

"So simple?" The words were a verbal caress as he settled in behind her seat.

"I -- I don't know."

"After?"

"Nick and I didn't see much of each other for a while. He worked. I worked. Somebody stumbled across vampires and didn't get stopped. Nick quit the force, died officially."

"You helped."

"Yeah. Big deal. Anyway, Nick was helping funnel the community out of the city when the wall went up. Somebody knew we had a good sized community here. Somebody -- Anyway, it went crazy for a couple of days. There was a flood of exsanguinated deaths and then it stopped."

"So, everyone knows we exist."

"Well, not exactly."

"Explain."

"I know. Some others know, the hunters. But it's like most of the mortal population is wearing blinders. What I don't see isn't real?"

She could feel his eyes on her, burning holes in her. She concentrated on her driving. Just a few more minutes and it would be the Duke's problem, not hers. She hoped. They traveled in silence. She hadn't really answered anything about Nick, but he would see for himself soon enough.

They pulled around back and into the rear of the church. Vachon, waiting for them, opened the van doors and let LaCroix out. Nick, also there, stood back. LaCroix could feel the strength of his son. He took in the costume, the look. Nick the Pirate. He'd let his hair grow to his shoulders, a fringe of well trimmed beard outlined his jaw, there was a steel in his eyes, in his stance, that had not been there when LaCroix left. He greeted his sire, his master, with a curt nod, then turned on his heel and led the way into the converted cathedral. He could feel the flare of anger that greeted his cavalier greeting. He was almost surprised to find he didn't care.

LaCroix was surprised at the fervor of Vachon's greeting for Natalie and her apparent return of that fervor. Dr. Lambert and the Spaniard?? It was food for thought. He strode after Nick.

Those of the community who were awake stared at the legend suddenly come among them. They knew the Duke, knew his strength, his rages, but this was the Nightcrawler, a legend among surviving vampires. He had been a power among them when they were free. What was he now?

Nick threw himself into the throne like chair from which he generally held court. He looked at his master, electricity jumping between them. What brought him here? There was a portion of him that was reticent about asking. Was this a challenge?

"What brings you here?"

"A task." The tone indicated the lack of pleasure. "Are you aware of the plane crash last night?"

"Of course. The building is under repair. There were no survivors."

LaCroix checked the monitor. "According to this, there is at least one survivor -- or was."

"Who?"

"The president."

Nick stopped lounging. "The president? Of the Alliance?" LaCroix could see the wheels turning. The president was a weapon in the hands of the vampires, if they could find her. His ideas over looked the possibility that someone else might have a more urgent need for the lady's survival. "And they sent you in for her?"

"Yes."

"We can work together?"

"It looks like we may have to do so. And there is a time limit."

"A time limit?"

"There's a summit. If she doesn't get to it, there could be a great deal of trouble."

"What do we care about the mortal world?"

Once he would have rejoiced to hear Nicholas espouse a renunciation of the mortal world. Only now there was the question of his own survival and he wasn't yet certain he wanted to involve Nick in that survival. "We don't. But vampires will certainly be an excellent scapegoat should the Alliance come a cropper."  
**************************  
end part 3


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I think I've been through this before. Parriott, et al; Sony/TriStar/Carpenter/Embassy -- yep, that's the lot. And I will let them all rest between now and part 2. (Really, no infringement is intended.)

(And you thought I couldn't milk it this long!)

Escape from Toronto  
The Bigfoot Invasion, Part 1 04/?

While LaCroix and the Duke were working out a plan to search for the president of the Western Alliance, the president was finding herself in a bit of a fix. She'd been stuffed into a survival pod which ejected as the plane hit the building. She'd felt the pod hit and go through all 33 floors beneath the plane's crash site. When it finally came to rest, she had hit the button to open the pod. She was rewarded with a popping - zzzit sort of a sound and a malfunction warning. Great, the door wasn't going to open. She carefully smoothed her golden locks and then drummed her feet on the inside of the pod. Why didn't anything ever seem to go her way?

Movement. She quite drumming. If she wasn't all the way down, she didn't really want to do anything precipitate. She felt as though the pod was being lifted and then moved. It was. Outside, a half dozen large, hairy, muscular types with excessively large feet had hoisted the pod onto a carrier and were hauling it out of the building at speed. The pod was loaded onto an eighteen wheeler and the truck pulled into the Toronto night.

Inside, the president was trying to determine if this was a major problem or not. As though being hijacked on the eve of an international summit meeting wasn't a problem. As though crashing into the side of a building wasn't a problem. As though, and this was the really frustrating one, she wasn't in again. She hated that city. That was why she had locked all the vampires up inside it. There was just something about that city that got her goat, and got it good.

After ten minutes or so of fuming inside the pod, the gentle swaying of the trip lulled the president into a semi-somnolent state. She was jerked out of that contentment half an hour later when the pod was rolled out of the truck and cracked open. The door was levered out of place and a big, furry face looked in at her. The president stared at the face. The face stared back. The face smiled.

"President Vetter, how nice to see you," a deep baritone greeted her.

Tracy Vetter, president of the Western Alliance, knew exactly what to do. She opened her mouth and screamed. The bigfoot addressing her recoiled. (It is well known that they have very sensitive hearing.) After what seemed like an eternity of sonic attack, she fell silent as she inhaled to repeat the performance. Unfortunately, the bigfoot in charge tossed a sleep gas container into the pod and it popped just as she inhaled. Her eyes closed and president Vetter took a well deserved nap.  
******

As the daylight fled from the Toronto skyline (insert sinking sun footage here), Nightcrawler and the Duke, with the vampire community of Toronto under their command, set out to locate the president. Natalie had gone back to work with Vachon tucked neatly into the van. No reason why he couldn't show up at dark to take her to dinner. Natalie still couldn't remember a plane crash. And Vachon hadn' t been paying much attention, as usual.

It was about half an hour after dark when it really struck Nick as odd that Natalie didn't remember the plane crash. After all, she remembered him, when he didn't want her to do so. He sought out LaCroix with a puzzled frown on his face and explained his concern. The elder vampire considered a biting remark, then considered his own knowledge of Dr. Lambert. True, he had influenced her, but he was old and wise in the ways of influencing people. Nick, at his age, was very good at it also, although not quite in LaCroix's category. Which indicated that someone old and powerful was influencing the mortal. Or mortals.

Nick found himself regarding empty air as his master went swiftly out into the night to find out if Nat was the only mortal with mental gaps. Two quick snacks and several quick interrogations later, he realized that it wasn't just Natalie Lambert. None of the mortals seemed to be aware of the plane crash. Someone was tampering with mortal minds wholesale. And while a part of LaCroix found this a satisfactory situation, a part of him wanted to know how and how to turn it to the advantage of the community. Unfortunately, the rest of him wanted to know where the president was and had only about 10 hours left in which to do so and return her to the security force.

He returned to the Duke's abode as Vachon phoned in. Nick grabbed the phone.

"Nick -- I mean, Duke," Vachon stumbled as Nick answered.

"Get on with it. Why are you calling?"

"Just wanted to check something."

"Vachon, we're looking for the president. The key to getting us free of Toronto? Remember?"

"Yeah. I just wanted to know when Grace became a bigfoot."

LaCroix and Nick both stared at the phone as though they couldn't believe their ears. Vampiric hearing being on a par with their eyesight and other senses, they had to accept what they'd heard.

"Bigfoot?"

"Yeah. Over seven foot tall. Hairy. Size 22 1/2 or so. Mythological Northwest Coast hominids."

LaCroix grabbed the phone. "We know what a bigfoot is," he hissed.

"Oh. Hi, Nightcrawler. Anyway, she is. I just thought it was curious, y'know." With that, the Spaniard hung up before either of the other two vampires could formulate a question.

They looked at each other. Grace was a bigfoot? How did this fit in? Did it fit in? Did either of them have a clew (sic) what was going on? LaCroix replaced the receiver and did what any good vampire detective or hero would do, took to the air. He was followed by Nick. They took opposite directions to scan the city and see if they could locate the president.

Vachon turned from the phone to find himself being inspected by the bigfoot in question. She looked soulfully sad and shook her shaggy head as a roundhouse right took the Spaniard into sleepy land. She tsked slightly as she slung his limp body over her shoulder. When would these bloodsuckers learn? Nothing gets past a bigfoot.

Vachon returned to hazy consciousness to find himself strapped into a chair. That was easy, break the bonds. He found himself at a standstill. The bonds were titanium reinforced leather. He was not going to break them by brute force. He looked around as much as he could. There was a strap holding his head steady against the back of the chair. Directly to his right was a second chair. In the chair was a pretty blonde woman who looked familiar.

Vachon took a deep breath to finish clearing his head. Apricots and calla lilys. Where had he smelled that before? "Tracy!!!" he shouted as the answer came to him. The blonde looked around at the shout.

"Vachon? Vachon! You -- you! You left! You didn't write! You --"

"You're dead," he said in a bewildered voice.

"I'm not the only one --" she shot back and then stopped. Vague memories of a glazed look in those beautiful dark eyes came back to her. Equally vague memories of pain like fire stirred. "What?" Tracy was confused.

She tried to turn her head to really look at him, but she too was restrained, although there was no need for titanium in her restraints. She squirmed in her seat, the movements making Vachon think forbidden thoughts about the lovely president. "I hate Toronto. I really hate Toronto," she was muttering under her breath, almost like a mantra of some sort. "I really, really hate Toronto!"

As a way of focusing her anger and her strength, it was beginning to work. Just as she broke free of one restraint, much to the surprise of Vachon, a bigfoot walked into the room. The smell, nearly overwhelming to the highly developed nose of the vampire, told him it wasn't the one calling itself Grace.

Something in the stride and bearing of the big fellow told Vachon and Tracy that this was trouble. Big trouble. He was right. The bigfoot wheeled a tv and vcr cart into the room and stopped it about five feet in front of his intended experimental projects. He put in the hypnotic tape he and his fellow scientists had developed and proceeded to indoctrinate Vachon and the president. He hadn't counted on the president's well developed sense of self preservation. Once again, she screamed. They were going to have to do something about her sonic attack.


	5. LaCroix

Disclaimer: See parts 1-4. (Pant, pant)

Escape from Toronto  
The Bigfoot Invasion, Part 1 05/5

The president screamed. Outside, the Nightcrawler heard the sound, but didn't identify it immediately as one he should investigate. Nick joined him and nodded towards the orgin of the sound. He knew that scream, knew that voice, but he was having a hard time accepting the knowledge. Tracy Vetter was in trouble.

But Tracy was dead. It seemed that a lot of people had been dead at one point or another in the past few years. He wasn't going to waste time questioning that now. Both vampires homed in on the sound just as it ceased and landed on an innocuous looking building in the center of Toronto's financial district.

Nick looked for a door. LaCroix, frequently the more direct of the two, slammed his way through the roof into an empty hallway below. Nick shook his head over the property damage and joined his master. The place smelled odd. It was a kind of wet fur, drying out smell that long haired dogs sometimes exuded. Both vampires growled in their throats.

LaCroix consulted the chronometer that seemed intent on ticking off the last few hours of his life. He could feel the small pellets in his veins. (OK, for those who are sticklers for this stuff, the carotid is officially an artery.) He wondered just how accurate the things were.

8hours, 02 minutes, 13 seconds. He should be in plenty of time.

The two vampires sped through the building, their heightened senses allowing them to dodge a dozen of the bigfoot denizens of the building and to home in on Tracy Vetter's individual scent. As they came closer to the room in which Vachon and Tracy were being held, they could also sense the slow heartbeat of the younger vampire. They could sense it's acceleration. Something was terrifying the Spaniard.

As the two of them burst through the door, they could suddenly understand why the poor vampire was so horrified. The bigfoot scientist was softening up his subjects with home videos of his youngest daughter at a piano recital -- a very bad piano recital. Nick recoiled from the sound. LaCroix, his senses fixed on the president, ignored the sound and sight of the bigfoot indulgence and broke the bonds holding the president in her chair.

Twang. Thunk. The shaft of a large bore crossbow bolt thudded into his back, narrowly missed his heart and plunged halfway out of his chest. LaCroix went to one knee from the shock. A second sound told him Nick had fallen to the floor, knocked unconscious by a blow from one of the massive, nearly eight foot tall, five foot wide hulks in the doorway behind him. The guards hauled LaCroix to his feet, ignoring the incredible spasm of pain they were causing. A slightly darker furred bigfoot stepped up in front of him. He took hold of the protruding shaft and twisted it just a little. LaCroix's reaction seemed to please him.

"Ah, Nightcrawler. I thought you were dead." LaCroix was beginning to hate the sound of that line. "Well, I shall see to the rectification of that situation." Another twist of the shaft. LaCroix surged forward. Fortunately, the two guards holding him were able to restrain his lunge. The scientist brought a gun out of his pocket (even bigfoot mad scientists wear lab coats). He brought it level with the vampire's chest and fired twice. The tranquilizer took a 30 seconds to take effect. Then LaCroix was unconscious.

"Take them to the holding pens. Remove the crossbow shaft. And feed them," he ended softly. Then he turned his attention back to Vachon and Tracy.

*Note: It is impossible to have a flashback when you're unconscious, even if you are a vampire.

LaCroix returned to consciousness with a growl. So did Nick. Confined in separate cells, they both regarded the green bottles sitting on the floor next to the door with suspicion. Both sniffed cautiously at the bottles before drinking. Both came to the conclusion there was nothing wrong with the blood within and fed. LaCroix finished healing. Nick paced like -- a caged vampire. LaCroix accepted the loss of his chronometer and signal device with aplomb. He might not know how much longer he had, but he knew it was not long before sunrise.

The doors to both cells opened. The massive guards were there, with crossbows and tasers, to escort the vampires to their captors. Or so they assumed. Their destination was a small arena such as mortals use for boxing or wrestling events. They were led to the ring and motioned inside.

"The object is survival," a voice announced. "Now, we will see how these lesser beings determine survival, won't we, my dear?" the bigfoot addressed the blank looking blonde to his side. Tracy nodded her acceptance of this statement. Behind her Vachon, also looking blank, stood and waited. He watched Nick and LaCroix. He could feel the anger, the hatred building in both of them. A bell rang and the two vampires engaged in a battle to the death. Vachon wanted to yell at them. This was wrong. They were father and son -- as he and the Inca had been brothers? Urk. Lousy train of thought, that one.

Tracy watched in blank fascination until something in Nick's movements caught her vacant eye. Gold eyes. Fangs. Both vampires were doing damage to each other. Blond hair. Nick? Nick!? Her partner? Her partner who hadn't trusted her enough to tell her? The partner she had followed into the room with the perp and gotten shot through him for her trouble!!!

"Nick!!" Her yell astonished the bigfoot beside her, startled Vachon out of his trying to figure out how to stop the fight and got the attention of the combatants, as well. Tracy was on her feet and headed down to the ring, oblivious of the big hairy things around her and of the enraged state of the two vampires. "Nicholas Knight! I have a few things to say to you," she fussed as she climbed onto the apron of the ring. Face to face with Nick, the Duke of Toronto, his eyes fading to that heart melting blue, she lost her voice. She saw the oddly comforting "little boy lost" look she had never understood. But only for a moment.

LaCroix saw his chance and took it. He lifted off, grabbed Tracy and headed for an exit with his prize leaving bigfoot audience, Nick and Vachon open mouthed and flat footed. The scientist started gabbling orders only to be shut down by Vachon. He didn't bother drinking the primate's blood, just ripped his throat out and dropped the corpse. Together, he and Nick tore through the crowd of hominids and went after LaCroix.

On the way out the doors, LaCroix had spotted one of the big hairy things wearing both the chronometer and the beacon activator. He slammed the thing aside, ripping the one from it's wrist and activating the other.

*******

"Stonetree!" one of his men yelped.

"What?"

"The signal! We've got a signal!"

"How much time?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Get to the perimeter. Cut power on my signal." Damn, he'd managed after all.  
****

"Oh, wait!" Tracy gasped as they got outside of the building.

'Oh, wait?" he repeated.

"Yeah. There's a tape I had with me. It's imperative I get it to the summit."

"A tape? What of?"

"I don't know. Somebody handed it to me as I got into the pod. They said it was important."

That was the problem with figurehead heads of state. They so frequently didn't know what they were doing.

"Where?" he grated, knowing he was going to regret this side trip. The chronometer stood at 20 minutes 35 seconds and it was 10 minutes to the shield.

"I think it's back in that room where they tried to brainwash us."

"Wait here." He set her down, none too gently, and raced back to the room where he and Nick had fallen to the bigfoot guards. Surprisingly, he found the tape box and the tape within almost immediately. Curious, he played the first few moments of the tape. An emotionless voice outlined the biowarfare capabilities of the Western Alliance. He grinned. Stupid mortals.

On the way back to Tracy, he grabbed an old style walkman from a passing bigfoot. He gave her the tape player and it's contents and took to the air again with his precious cargo.

The beacon stopped broadcasting. Nick and Vachon had picked up his trail and were following closely. Vachon vaguely wanted to rescue Tracy from LaCroix. Nick wanted the president, and maybe Tracy, and the bargaining power to drop the walls around Toronto that kept the vampires in.

Timing was perfect. A hole opened in the wall long enough to let LaCroix through. Nick and Vachon were knocked out of the air by the harmonics as the shield wall went back on.

LaCroix landed, setting Tracy on her feet. The technician who had warned him about the explosives used two small portable x-ray devices to neutralize the explosives just as the chronometer hit 0 hours, 0 minutes, 0 seconds. The ancient vampire concentrated for a moment, forcing the foreign bodies, inert as they were, from his body.

Tracy had been welcomed by her people and was being prepared for a broadcast to the summit meeting she was close to missing. LaCroix looked at her. His hunger was satiated by his survival, for now. She looked at him brightly.

"Oh, Nightcrawler. I want to thank you. All of you."

"Take down the wall."

"Oh, I can't do that. I hate Toronto," she responded and returned to her makeup men.

"The tape," Stonetree requested quietly.

"She has it."

Stonetree smiled. "We made a good team, this time. Interested in a job, Nightcrawler?"

"The name is LaCroix," he corrected as he walked off. He pulled a second tape from a pocket in his fatigue pants and crushed it.

"Hi, I'm President Vetter of the Western Alliance. I'm sorry I haven't made it to the summit, but there were some technical difficulties in my travel arrangements. However, you know I support the peace effort as much as anyone. With that in mind, please listen to this important message." She placed the tape LaCroix had given her into a player and pushed play.

She smiled brightly as the sound of a well played rebec hit the airwaves for the first time in a decade or more. LaCroix smiled and hit the air before someone came looking for him.

*********

Fin

Now that this is out of the system, I have to rent EFLA before I can butcher the plot line any more. -- Big Trouble in Little Toronto, anyone?? (Splat -- yuck -- ripe tomatoes!)


End file.
